New Year
by mysweetone
Summary: Post S4 and CS. Updated with a post-script to the original one-shot. Edith, vulnerable to the past and uncertain of her future, goes for a drive on New Year's Eve, 1923.
1. Chapter 1

Edith turned slowly onto the main street leading back to Downton. The darkness hovered about with few lights from the surrounding farms, even on this New Year's Eve. A few minutes spent at the Drewe's tenant farm was all it took—she didn't go inside, but had simply parked and waited…until the tears pricked her eyes and she had driven away into the night.

As she made her way along the country road, she passed the familiar hills and other farms of the county until she found herself slowing and parking. The hour late, she stopped because of a lone light in the distance—the fence the same as it had been four years prior, the trees of the orchard dormant in the dead of winter, and that one light. She knew the room. She knew the occupant within it.

The rumors came to her then: Anthony's year abroad after he'd left her, the occasional sightings in the years since—only at the train station when he was coming or going and disappeared just as quickly under the cover of his car, the talk of his ill health and gaunt appearance and, some said, imminent death. It was four months ago when on a previous visit to Yorkshire, Stewart, Anthony's loyal valet, caught her eye once in the village, on an errand for his master, no doubt. Edith had waited for him to look up, to notice her, in what felt the longest moment of her life, as she fought against the past and her mixed emotions for Anthony and for Michael. Stewart, a sense of someone watching him, finally did look to his right and she was there across the street. Edith waved before she'd thought and, Stewart, ever the gentleman in his own behavior, tipped his hat to her in acknowledgement and the two of them passed a brief minute simply gazing at one another, feeling the distance of time and space between them, and all that happened, all they knew of one another, of Anthony, of what might have or should have been…of regrets each knew about and…those they didn't. And then he moved along and Edith, at the time, thought she had, too.

Now, here she was parked outside Locksley's entrance, knowing the light on glowed from his library and that he didn't sleep and it was New Year's Eve. Despite her expected presence back at Downton for the required champagne toast, Edith sat in the driver's seat of the oldest family car and stared at the windows touched by the central room's light. _I shouldn't_…_I don't know why I stopped_. She reached to ignite the engine, but didn't complete the act and her hands clamped the steering wheel in frustration. Edith looked out her window. The packed snow, long on the ground, brightened the adjacent fields. She turned back towards the house. _He's alone…I'm alone. _

"They won't know I'm gone," Edith reasoned to the windshield. She shivered beneath her coat and hat, her toes frozen inside her shoes. "What the hell am I even doing here?" Her words evaporated with her breath in the chill of the vehicle. Something compelled her though, tears still forming in her eyes as she thought of her baby, of Michael and their fate, of everything at once now rushing at her and she opened the car door and began walking…around the car, towards the front—no—around to the strongest lit window and, of course, there he was…alone. Edith trembled in the cold for a moment before her gloved hand fisted and knocked on the window of the French doors—softly at first and then louder until she made the poor man almost jump in fright at the disturbance.

Anthony, though shocked and standing in his robe and pajamas, immediately opened the door to her. "Do come in out of the cold, Lady Edith."

"Thank you," she said, her teeth beginning to chatter as Anthony closed the door behind her. Edith moved instinctively closer to the fire, still tended in the late hours and crackling with heat. "I'm sorry to disturb you so late; I didn't want to wake anyone and saw your light on and…knew you were here."

Anthony didn't speak; his eyes and mind still trying to take in and make sense of the sight of her standing in his library.

Edith removed her hat and stared at him. He stood just by the chair now, within arm's reach of her directly in front of the hearth. He was too thin, his cheeks flushed now as he glanced at his navy robe in embarrassment, but his eyes were still a brilliant blue, intensified now by the lamps and the close blaze of the flames. "I'm sorry to disturb—"

"Quite all right," he managed.

"I…I was out for a drive, clearing my head given the New Year's Eve festivities, and feeling sentim—well, feeling something, I suppose, and saw the light. I guess I just thought—never mind." Edith waved her hand in the air in surrender. "I shouldn't be here; it's almost midnight and I probably interrupted your reading or, God knows, your life—again—despite your making it perfectly clear—" She cut her own words off and put her hat on again and took a step back towards the door, humiliated and uncertain, but his hand touched her sleeve.

"I'm delighted…Lady Edith…that you've, as you say, 'interrupted' my life." The words entirely inadequate to express all he felt and he tried again, with a whisper, "I'm so sorry for it all; I wish so often I'd—"

Edith waited for him to find the words, stunned at what she was hearing, at his utterance and his deep voice that seemed to break from neglect. "You wish what?"

Anthony swallowed. Unsure as to how to continue, how to tell her all he had heard about her, how he had read of her successes, had purposely stayed away so as to let her live her life happily, he only sought to begin…something…"Stewart and all of them are asleep, but I'm sure we can manage…together—so…what I mean is—Would you like a cup of something?"

Standing there, closer now than before, and hearing his words, the two of them alone together, almost four years to the very hour…Edith remembered: his painful clarifying statement denying her, the way she'd flinched at his harshness in the use of the word 'cripple,' and her own determination, her will in proving to him he had a life yet to be lived. She clasped her hands in front of her and looked up into his eyes—beautiful and haunted and penitent—and she realized everything that lay in the simple question and her unspoken answer, and smiled. "All right. Yes, thank you. That would be nice…"


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thank you for the lovely reviews—you all inspired this little book-end piece with your kind requests! I hope this is a worthy finale to the scene and that you all are pleased with it. Perhaps a full-length story idea will come along later… In the meantime, I wish you all a very Happy New Year!_

* * *

They sat together, the light of one lamp and the fire, with an almost-empty glass each nearby on the end tables. "I don't know quite how to begin. There's so much that's happened, passed now…"

"Yes…perhaps we could simply continue to sip our brandy and see what comes of it?" When she didn't speak then, but smiled, he felt the confession spilling before he could stop it or cushion it with further explanation, "I've missed you terribly."

Edith frowned, reluctant to admit how often she'd thought of him, how her love for and relationship with Michael failed to allow her complete peace given her doubts and the circumstances—how in the darkest moments she knew and felt the familiar resonance, the truth of the two of them and would whisper, damn and curse his name and everything else present in the known universe... "You've not taken care of yourself."

"No, I'm afraid I haven't—much to Stewart and Mrs. Brandon's frustration—just work and..." He looked away from her.

Edith knew why, knew all the reasons without treading further.

"You, on the other hand, I've read everything, and it seems you have flourished."

Edith looked at him, stared into the proud and adoring expression he held for her—and cried.

"Edith? Dear me, I had no wish to upset you—I only thought—"

"No, I haven't _flourished_—I've written and ignited arguments and opinions, but I've lost a child, Anthony…a lover and a child."

"What?" Anthony moved closer to her on the sofa, gently tilted her face to his with his hand at her chin. Seeing her tears touched him. "Edith, what do you mean? Your husband and child—lost?"

Edith shook her head, emphatic and sick from the admission, reached to push at his shoulders, to keep him from her as she began to move off the sofa, ducked her head, overcome and resigned to the self-pity wrought by her choices and bitter at him again for his decision in leaving her—but Anthony gripped her arm instead, refused to let her go. The force of his hand clutching her brought her near to rage and when her head jerked up to face him again, she only saw his own determination matching hers, both suffering the moment with wetness in their eyes. "Now you want to hold onto me?"

"More than ever."

Edith absorbed his words, her eyes wide for several seconds, completely taken in by what she saw in him. She felt the taut tension in her body dissolve, going limp as he pulled her close to him, Anthony leaning against the back of the sofa and coaxing her into his embrace. His hand smoothed her hair, pressed her into his chest, and she cried, soaked his robe and the front of his shirt with her tears. Anthony listened—this was how they began together, years ago, after all, talking and listening—first to her sobs, then to her strained and rambling speech whispered into the soft folds of his nightclothes as she rested her head against his chest and, with her slender fingers, alternately clenched the lapels of his robe, then his shirt, and then smoothed them again only to repeat the nervous exercise again and again as she gave a total recounting of all that was and wasn't for her since he'd sacrificed them on the altar.

"Of course I've no idea really about her, but…my heart—my chest—I just hurt thinking of her. Big dark eyes and the most gorgeous auburn curls. She's beautiful…"

"Of course she is...beautiful and strong like her mother." Anthony kissed her hair, watched in amazement as Edith curled around him, an illusion surely—fashioned from the warmth and brandy and the surreal dawn of a new year. Now, by the dying fire, the clock nearing one in the morning, the two lay together nestled in consolation.

"I'm awful—I've destroyed her and I'm utterly foolish and I've ruined everything—"

"No, no, Edith—not at all. You mustn't be so hard on yourself. It's my fault."

"You don't—you don't think worse of me, do you?"

"How could I, darling? I should be the one asking forgiveness for driving you to it—for hurting you so horribly...the way I did it. If anyone was foolish... I'm so, so very sorry. I wish…it weren't too late…that things were …" Once again his words faded as he thought of the lost years.

Edith lifted her head from his shoulder and saw his eyes—deep, iridescent blue—and smiled. "Actually…everything's different now. And it's quite early." When he smiled, bemused by her words, she laughed that gentle charming sound that mesmerized him.

Anthony tilted his head to try to see the clock, but Edith stopped him, her hand at his cheek, making a gentle sweep of the fallen lock of hair at his brow.

"Not in the morning—" She said, her smile gone, gingerly pushing herself, leaning up over him as his head rested on the arm cushion. An open, silent look as each searched and finally understood the other and the moment itself, the unspoken resolve and resolutions, the beginning found again. "Happy New Year, Anthony," she breathed before touching his lips and, after the tentative first seconds when he remained still beneath her, she thrilled at his reply. Soft, needful, reverent…complete…

* * *

Stewart, concerned at the hour and his master's absence, opened the door of the library and froze. His jaw dropped for a long moment as he tried to figure it out. When he couldn't, he only smiled.

"Stew—" Mrs. Brandon called to him from down the hall.

"Shhh—" He gestured to Mrs. Brandon with a finger at his lips. He hurried to her and walked her into the kitchen.

"What on earth is going on?" She asked, her tone curious and stern at once.

Stewart grinned. "I think you might need to cook a bit larger breakfast this morning."

"You know he barely eats. Why would you ask me to do such a thing?"

Stewart thought for a moment of the couple in the library: Edith sound asleep with Anthony's arm around her as he, too, slept peacefully. "Lady Edith…is home."

Mrs. Brandon's eyes filled as she stood with mouth agape in shock. "Oh…" That was all she managed before she reached out and hugged Stewart, took the man's breath away with the strength of her embrace. When she finally let go, she began rushing quietly about the kitchen humming and muttering about preparing and impressing and welcoming, but then stopped suddenly and looked at Stewart again, overcome with emotion.

"I know. 'Tis a Happy New Year, indeed," Stewart whispered, both sharing a knowing smile.


End file.
